


Milk and coffee

by IanMuyrray



Series: Fersali [4]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 15:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15911202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IanMuyrray/pseuds/IanMuyrray
Summary: Anonymous said: Would love to see a modern Fergus introducing Marsali to his parents for the first time





	Milk and coffee

“ _Fuck_!” Marsali cursed loudly. She slammed on her brakes, narrowly avoiding rear-ending the vehicle in front of her. Surprised as her car jerked to a stop, she squeezed the paper mug of her latte, popping off the lid and sending its hot contents flying. She swore again, hissing at the burning sensation spreading over her leg, and sped away, glaring at how the hot drink had ruined her nice pair of jeans.

 

She had been casually cruising along, no cars around for miles. Until this  _asshole -_ she wanted to yell after whoever it was - decided to screech to a halt and make a last-minute turn.

 

She’d already been in a hurry - now she was definitely going to be late. Tonight she was meeting Fergus’ parents, and she was desperate to make a good impression, so she had worn her nicest pair of jeans. But today had been exceptionally bad - she had woken late for work, her hair wouldn’t stay flat, she had to miss her lunchtime workout because a meeting ran over - and now,  _now,_  she thought, grimacing, the only clean trousers she had were the gym clothes she had hastily tossed in her car this morning. Gym clothes to meet the parents.  _Great_.

 

Cursing, she pulled into the gas station at the next corner.

 

The gas station was nestled in a rural bend in the highlands, and she wasn’t far from Fergus’ childhood home. The building was a little run down, covered with chipped white paint and displaying a sun-faded sign, but it was surprisingly busy despite its remote location. It must be the only place around for miles.

 

She began to pull into a spot just as a middle-aged man was getting out of a truck; she braked quickly to avoid hitting him and waved apologetically that he should go first. Maybe she  _had_  been pulling into the spot kind of quickly. Unshaken, he nodded at her and waved back, zipping up his green jacket as he walked inside.

 

Once parked, she pulled out her phone, shooting off a quick text to Fergus.

 

_Spilled coffee all over myself and have to change_ _Will be late to dinner. Sorry…_

 

️ _ce n’est pas un problème._ ️ _we will wait for you_

 

The bell jingled as the door closed behind her, and she was greeted by brown tile floors and cluttered retail shelves lit by fluorescent lighting. She stalked gingerly to the bathroom, her gym bag over her shoulder.

 

She  _had_ to make a good impression. Fergus loved his parents more than anything in the world, and Marsali wanted to be worthy of the Frasers’ approval.

 

Adopted at the age of five, Fergus had come into the Fraser family largely by accident. After a couple years in France and difficulty conceiving, his parents had gone to an adoption agency. They never said they had intended to adopt an infant - but one night, in the dark, their fingers intertwined, Fergus shared his anxieties about it with Marsali. He had felt the insecurity most as a young boy, but it continued to haunt him as an adult; it haunted him especially when he unfairly compared himself to his sister, Brianna, who was their biological child. He wondered, was he enough, adopted as a child instead of as a baby? Adopted, when they ended up pregnant a few years later anyway? Had they settled for him?

 

But from what he told her of his parents, she knew the regret Fergus feared they felt was born of his own anxiety. He shared little of his personal life with his family, and she had gleaned it was because he didn’t want them to think him a failure. Although Fergus might be a  _little_  bit of a mess, Marsali thought with a loving smile, he had grown up within a supportive, stable home, and nothing he could do would shake the Frasers’ support of their eldest son. The Frasers loved Fergus unconditionally, unquestionably, more fiercely than Marsali thought even her own mother loved her. She envied Fergus, and for her own selfish reasons she longed to be liked by them.  

 

His Da - that was the person she longed to impress the most. Fergus spoke of Mr. Fraser with a tone nearing worship, sharing with Marsali that all he wanted in the world was to be even half the man Jamie Fraser was. He loved and respected his father more than anything in the world.

 

Hastily, she changed out of her jeans, cursing herself for having screwed up so badly. She dabbed at her damp thighs with paper towel, trying to wipe away the stickiness of sugar left by the latte.

 

Her sweater had miraculously avoided the coffee catastrophe. And it didn’t look  _so_  bad over the athletic wear, she thought, looking in the mirror. With the boots, the ensemble might seem planned. But still. Her ruined jeans! She wriggled awkwardly in the gym wear, plucking here, straightening there, twisting back and forth in the mirror, hoping that she’d feel less ridiculous with each touch or glance. Nope. She began to feel worse.

 

She sent a photo of herself in the mirror to Fergus, along with a quick text.

 

_Does this make me look ridiculous? My jeans were ruined._

 

She counted under her breath as she waited for Fergus’ reply.

 

_hurry up and get over here_

 

She laughed, beginning to type something back, when another message popped up:

 

_Can you grab milk? Da isn’t back yet and left his phone behind._

 

“Oh.”

 

She sent back:  _I’m going to be sooooo late_

 

_Mam is keeping dinner warm and I wont let Bree eat til you arrive. miss you see you soon_

 

She snorted and tucked her phone into her waistband, straightening her sweater over it. Fergus  _had_  said dinner would be casual, that she shouldn’t worry too much about what she wore. Athletic wear was certainly casual, wasn’t it? She sighed at her bad luck and exited the bathroom.

 

Shit, Fergus hadn’t said what kind of milk they need, she realized as she paused at the refrigerator. Skim? Whole? 2%? A gallon? Half gallon? She frowned, quickly scanning the options through the glass doors, trying to decide. Nervous about selecting the wrong kind, nervous about her terrible outfit and late arrival, she grabbed her phone again to call Fergus when she heard a voice.

 

“Pardon.”

 

It was the man she had nearly run over in the parking lot, now with a small basket of groceries on his arm. She let out an involuntary squeak and let him by. He was broad shouldered, red haired, blue eyed, and very tall; standing next to him made Marsali feel miniature. He seemed so large, Marsali thought, no wonder her car hadn’t spooked him.  

 

He paused and eyed her a moment, taking in the gym bag slung across her shoulder. The latte-soaked jeans over her arm. The hurried look about her. The phone in her hand, lit to Fergus’ contact page.

 

“Ye look like ye’ve had a hell of a day, lass.” He grinned.

 

“Aye,” Marsali said, confused by his attention, “it’s been a day.” She smiled awkwardly until he walked over to the cashier, then she muttered to the milk, “Not that it’s any of yer business.”

 

In line, she glanced at her watch and sighed. She was late, she was so, so, late. Looking over the man from before, she figured that since he had seemed nice earlier, maybe he would let her cut him in line. She only had one milk jug to purchase, after all, and he had a basketful.

 

“Um, sir? Sorry,” she spoke to his back.

 

He turned and raised his eyebrows at her, expectantly.

 

“Would ye mind if I went ahead of ye? I - I have an important dinner to get to, ye ken, and I’m already late, and, as ye so  _kindly_  pointed out, I’ve had a terrible day,” she rambled, “I have to make a good impression, it’s my boyfriend’s parents, ye see, and I need them to like me--”

 

With an amused look on his face, the man moved out of the way, offering her his place in line. “Aye, lass, say no more. Go on ahead.”

 

Back in her car, winding through the countryside, she blew out a breath. She had only seen her reflection once since she changed, her nice sweater paired with athletic wear, and she felt herself sink into her seat. It had been so important to her that she made a good first impression; she had spent a week trying to figure out what outfit would make her more impressive. But none of it mattered. She screwed up. Now she looked ridiculous.

 

When she thought of her own parents, her selfish mother and her absent father, she thought of a childhood lost. She thought of herself as incomplete, somehow tainted by a family that never was a family. And so, she had decided, when she walked up to that house, when she met Jamie and Claire for the first time, she wanted perfection. She wanted to be worthy. Not just for Fergus, but for herself. And when she looked over at her stained jeans, piled upon the passenger seat, she felt unworthy.

 

Her heart skipped a beat as she parked outside the expansive brick home. A three-story manor of harled white stone, its entry marked by double doors, its windows outlined with natural grey stone; it was topped with a high slate roof and multiple chimneys. Land sloped gracefully around it, a mesh of trees in the distance. To the side of the house was a large, abundant garden and hen coop. Just beyond she could see a round tower, crumbling in its age, its arrow slits apparent.

 

Marsali went to walk up to the front door, but froze when she heard a man’s voice.

 

He had just parked, was out of his car. “I figured ye’d beat me here after taking off like that.”

 

Marsali turned and saw him. The man from the store. Her eyes went wide.

 

“Oh,” she stammered, trying not to give away her embarrassment, “H-Hi …Mr. Fraser?”

 

He shook his head with a laugh. “Call me Jamie. We’re excited to have ye here, Marsali,” he said warmly, “Fergus has told us a lot about ye.”

 

“All good things, I hope?” She clutched the bag with the milk as he came towards her.

 

Jamie laughed again and shifted the groceries out of his hand to extend it to her in welcome. “He willna shut up about ye since he told us about ye,” he teased.

 

Marsali smiled awkwardly. “Well, that’s good, I suppose. I’m very sorry about my appearance.” She grimaced.

 

“Dinna fash, all that matters is ye made it. Now let’s head in, get that dinner warmed up.” He nudged her with his elbow and walked towards the door.

 

Marsali grinned, feeling a little more relaxed, more at home. “That would be great.”


End file.
